


Grief And The Lack Of It

by kattahj



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-31
Updated: 2003-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kurt goes off to be alone and Artie wants someone to talk to, both end up getting what they really need. Set after X2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief And The Lack Of It

There wasn't anything on television that could ease Kurt's mind. The family programs were too simplistic, the cop shows too violent, the sitcoms weren't funny. He'd long since stopped putting any trust in the news, and as entertainment it was sadly lacking. Finally he settled for a documentary on deep sea fishing, fundamentally uninteresting but at the very least calming.

For the first time in ages, he had people all around him, and yet he sought solitude. Their company made him feel lonely, and he couldn't even turn to God, because some things he was ashamed to put in prayer.

Hearing the soft padding of bare feet, he turned around and found a dark-haired boy in green pyjamas standing behind the couch, watching him. Kurt recognised him as one of the children who had been held captive at Alkali Lake. The one with the forked tongue.

He wondered briefly what it was like to have that kind of mutation, one that could be hidden, but only with great care. Was it better than not having that opportunity? Worse than passing completely? But he brushed those thoughts away. God had given him this body, that was all he needed to know. If it was taking him a long time to learn to love it, he was finally getting there.

"Hello," he said politely. Obviously, the TV room in a school wasn't the best place to choose for some time alone. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

The boy shrugged and moved to sit down, choosing the other end of the couch. So he wasn't afraid, just normally cautious around strangers. Kurt wondered what he wanted. It certainly wasn't to watch television. He couldn't imagine that documentaries about fish were of interest to a boy of... eleven? Twelve?

"My name is Kurt Wagner. What's yours?"

A sudden memory turned up in his mind – or at least it seemed like a memory – of a school book with the name 'Artie Maddicks' printed on the inside of the cover. He blinked. If that was a memory, it certainly wasn't one of his. And it was a little too vivid to be real anyway.

"Artie Maddicks?" Kurt thought out loud.

The boy's expectant look turned into a rather sweet smile, and he nodded. So, Artie Maddicks, then. And somehow he had planted that image into Kurt's mind, which should have been worrisome considering that man Jason, but Kurt wasn't about to let a little boy feel feared. He knew that feeling far too well.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Artie."

Artie's smile widened, although he still didn't say anything. In his mind, Kurt added the silence to the mind image and the forked tongue and came to a conclusion that he stowed away as interesting information, but not very important.

"Was it me you came here to see?" he asked. He had no idea why that would be, but Artie nodded. Okay. "Why?"

The image entering his mind was so vibrant and beautiful that it forced him to blink – not that blinking helped. He saw Jean Grey, the woman who had died, dressed in her X-Men uniform and with her red hair glittering in the sun. She seemed taller than she should be, until he realised that of course she would be, from the perspective of a preteen boy. And she was laughing.

"Why me?" he asked, uncomfortable.

He was stepping into the plane they called the Blackbird over at Alkali Lake – but he waved away that image. "Yes, I was there. But so were many people. People who knew her."

After that the images started to swirl.

There was beautiful Ororo, sitting in the rain, her clothes drenched through and wet streams running down her cheeks. It was impossible to say if she was crying or if it was only the rain, but then, in her case it hardly mattered.

The professor was dragging a large wooden cross behind him. He had difficulty handling both that and the motor controls of his wheelchair, and his face was tense and sweaty.

Scott Summers had divided himself in two. One part was made of impeccable marble and was currently teaching geography, his face no darker than the chalk he was writing with. The other part was lying in a heap by his feet, blasting the floor into dust.

Logan was going berserk in his room, cutting into everything with his claws, strip by strip, into tiny little pieces, even the people who dared come close.

Far above the ground the girl with the white streaks in her hair was floating in a bubble of her own, huddled on its bottom. The blond boy who was her boyfriend stepped inside and sat down beside her. It gave her comfort, but it froze the bubble into ice. No one else could get in but the two of them.

More images swirled by, most of them difficult to interpret since Kurt didn't know the people they referred to. The point was clear anyway, even if Artie had exaggerated it. Everyone had their own grief. They held it together a lot better than Artie's images implied, but Kurt understood if they weren't much comfort.

He, on the other hand, was an outsider who had been present at the time of Jean's death, but who wasn't as deeply stricken as the rest of them. But he didn't think that was enough for him to be able to help. He might be an adult, but he wasn't some sort of therapist, and he had no idea what to do about all this.

"What do you want me to say?"

Artie shook his head and pointed at himself.

"You'll do the talking?" That was a relief, at least. Lending an ear – or a mind, in this case – was a lot easier than trying to come up with some profound wisdom. "All right, then."

Now the images were much slower in coming, giving him time to properly watch every one of them.

He saw Jean giving Artie a physical examination, and he knew it wasn't exactly a memory, because he could see Artie as well as Jean. The boy looked a little off, like a mirror image, but obviously he would, since that was the only way he had ever seen himself. Jean was looking at Artie's tongue, and her expression was slightly baffled, but in a good way, like the boy had just displayed an unexpected talent. 

The very next moment, she made Artie stand on the floor with his head hanging down as she checked the curve of his back. Kurt nearly laughed at the sight. Nothing could keep the routine away for long, it seemed.

In the next image, it was winter, and the children were playing outside the mansion. They were having a snowball war, although it was very unclear who was on which side, since even behind the barricades people were throwing snowballs at each other. Jean was coming down one of the paths, her steps hurried as if she was late for something – which, Kurt thought, was probably the case. She was much too preoccupied to notice what was going on around her, and so it was inevitable that she was caught in the crossfire. Accident alone caused the ball that hit her to be Artie's.

Jean stopped for a second and caught Artie's eye, and as she resumed her pace, a ball formed itself from the snow and flew into his face with perfect aim. No ball touched her again. Somehow they slid aside before they came within a foot of her. Very practical mutation, telekinesis. Kurt wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a smile on Jean's lips. He certainly had one of his own.

Jean in class was another thing altogether, too caught up in stamens and pistils to notice that the kids were passing notes. Her drawing was meticulous rather than pretty, but there was no mistaking her enthusiasm, even if the children didn't always muster the same. She was more of a scientist than a teacher, and it showed, but the children didn't seem hostile, just bored, and the slightest bit amused at their own boredom.

The image was going a bit blurred, and Artie was starting to sniffle. Kurt reached out an arm for him as if he had been a small child from his Romani family rather than a strange boy close to puberty, and Artie reacted accordingly, curling up in Kurt's arms and letting the tears start to flow. Soon silent sobs were wracking his body, but he refused to stop the images, sending one after another like something was forcing him. Kurt wondered how desperately Artie had needed to talk to someone, and how many people he had tried before going to the outsider.

Jean and Scott were getting ready to go out, presumably on a date since they were both dressed up. It was funny, when Kurt had first seen Jean and Scott he had assumed right away that they were a couple, but the thought of them dating had never occurred to him. Their togetherness had been too relaxed, too obvious, and yet now that he saw them like this it was the most natural thing in the world. Scott in a striped suit should have looked like an extra from The Godfather, but he was too striking for that, and Jean, in her moss green dress, was simply beautiful. They were both laughing, and Jean gave Scott a smack over the nose, playful like a kitten.

Judging from the image of a late-night poker game, Jean was a terrible card player. Pennies were piling up in front of the others, but in front of her, the table was empty. She was smiling as if it didn't matter, but above her a tiny Jean was throwing a tantrum, kicking and screaming. Jean was a *very* sore loser – and equally eager to hide it.

The contrast was great with the next image, where Jean had circles under her eyes and a worried expression, working hard by her microscope. She still had time for a strained smile as Artie limped inside with a bleeding knee, and she patched it up gently if somewhat hurriedly, without glancing more than once at the microscope. She had her priorities in order. Scientist before teacher, but doctor before scientist.

Kurt didn't know when he too started to cry, but his cheeks were wet with tears by the time the last image turned into a meaningless jumble before disappearing entirely. Artie's eyes were drifting closed, and Kurt sat very still, letting the boy fall asleep. Grief could be very exhausting.

The fishing documentary had ended by now, and Kurt sat watching the crackling black and white spots, his mind still focused on what he had just seen. He had learned a lot about Jean, about Artie and about this place, and it comforted something in him he hadn't known needed comfort. Being the only one who didn't grieve had been difficult, and it wasn't a problem you could ease by sharing. He could never have a place in their sorrow, but through Artie he had at least been given a better understanding of what they had lost.

He'd almost fallen asleep himself when he heard footsteps again, this time the hard clatter of high-heeled shoes. He twisted in his seat, trying not to disturb Artie's sleep. It turned out to be Ororo, and he gave her a warm smile, running a quick hand under his eyes to make sure his tears had dried. He certainly didn't want to blubber in front of her.

"Hello, Liebchen," he said, not sure if he hoped she understood that word or not.

"Hi," she replied, scowling lightly at the boy in his arms. "It is long past his bedtime."

"Well, he is asleep." Kurt let his hand run over the sleeping boy's cheek. It came away wet. Even in his sleep, Artie was still crying. "He needed someone to talk to. And I needed to listen."

Ororo leaned her elbows on the back of the couch. "I know things have been hectic lately..."

"It doesn't matter," he hurried to say. The last thing he wanted right now was a conversation spurred by guilt. Not after a real one, and not with her. He smiled a bit to show he still wanted her company – God, did he ever.

Ororo smiled back, her eyes weary and tired. He threw a glance outside, but the night sky was clear. Not too bad, then.

"I hate to wake him up when he is this peaceful... Do you think you could teleport him back to his room?"

"I wish I could." He didn't want to wake up the boy either, but taking him him into a wall would be worse. "I don't know where it is, what it looks like."

"Oh, it is upstairs, first door to the right..." She trailed off. "That was not what you were asking."

"Not quite." He smiled a little. Apparently he wasn't the only person having some difficulty understanding other people's mutations. "But it's still helpful. I'll take him that far."

He scooped up the boy in his arms, and a bamf later they were both in the second floor hallway. Artie was heavier than he looked, and Kurt had to let him slide to a half-standing position – which was of course guaranteed to wake him up.

A somewhat blurred question mark formed inside his head.

"I'm just getting you to bed, Schatz."

The reply was a most indignant looking Artie, half a head taller than Kurt. Kurt laughed quietly and let go of the boy. "Yes, you are too big to be carried. My apologies."

Artie stumbled towards the door, rubbing his eyes.

"Good night," Kurt said, getting ready to teleport back down again.

The boy lift a hand in reply, and then changed his mind, instead stepping up to Kurt and giving him a hard, brief hug before shyly slinking into his room.

Kurt was already back in the TV room when the last image struck him: a very large, blue band-aid.

"And thank *you*, Schatz," he whispered. He wasn't sure if Artie could read minds, but a bit of politeness never hurt anyone.

Tonight, he thought he would be able to pray again.


End file.
